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You represent what you wear,
but don't wear what you represent.
Nothing but makeup and hair.
You're the price tag of what you spent.
The mannequin in the window we stare at in awe.
Plastic surgery used to cover Pinocchio's nose.
So seemingly perfect: you're just clear coated with flaw.
You have no clue what to do, so you just stand there and pose.
What line's in my face? What overgrown nail?
Deny them yourself so no one objects.
Using sparkles to cover your trail.
So full of crap I can see it convex.
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This poem is actually about all the people in power that lie. The ones that say things to get a good reputation when in reality they're bad people and have done nothing good.
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